


The End of All Our Exploring Will Be To Arrive Where We Started

by ThisThatAndTheOther



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: But not really at all, Downton Charity Drive, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisThatAndTheOther/pseuds/ThisThatAndTheOther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern era AU. Jimmy and the gang think it's a good idea to perform black magic without having any idea what they're doing. Halfway to crack. A Fill for a Downton Charity Drive prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of All Our Exploring Will Be To Arrive Where We Started

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HowCleverOfYou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowCleverOfYou/gifts).



 “I don’t think we should be doing this,” Daisy said for the fourth time that evening. This time she rubbed her hands against her arms, casting a suspicious glance around the room, to further prove her point.

“Then what are you even still doing here?” Jimmy all but growled, pausing from his drawing to lob her a searing look. A stray hand moved to sweep up an errant curl before it was even knocked loose, whilst his left sustained the pressure of his paintbrush against the hardwood floor.

Part of his frustration could be blamed on the fact that he was kneeling on the stained floor of an abandoned house, very conscious of the fact that dirt and only god knows what else was being ground into the fabric of his (new) trousers. The other part could be blamed solely on Daisy’s determination to be both the most annoying fifth wheel and a kill joy.

For weeks now they had planned on coming to this house, so she had plenty of opportunity to find other plans. This house being an old farm home that was really more of a derelict shack than anything and something Jimmy would normally avoid in fear of catching some disease, but it was down the lane and across a few fields, strategically far away from uni and any of their flats. It was small, cold, and smelt faintly of something rotting, but it was secluded, and they had chosen it exactly for this reason, as none of them wanted to get caught.

It had been Rose’s idea, of course, as it always was. Jimmy had been grabbing a drink at the local with Alfred, Ivy, and Daisy when she had swept in in her usual flurry of giggles and curls, pressing herself against Jimmy’s side and reaching for his pint to steal a healthy swig. Sandwiching him between her and Daisy on the bench, he could smell the dampness of autumn clinging to her jacket.

“You won’t _believe_ what I’ve got,” she said conspiratorially to the four of them.

“What?” Ivy asked, clearly taken in by Rose’s enthusiasm. Alfred was more interested in his hand on her thigh.

Rose wrestled from out of her canvas backpack a torn, black leather bound book, and she placed it in the centre of the table with a flourish, “This!”  
  
It looked old – older than any book Jimmy had ever seen, surely. It was clearly an antique and well used too, judging by the way its corners were scuffed and worn away. On the front was a title in Latin Jimmy couldn’t understand, but he could appreciate how the golden embossing contrasted against its black leather. Taking it from Rose and into his hands, it felt oddly heavy within them, lending itself great import. With just his pointer and thumb pinched together carefully, he opened it, and the bindings cracked loudly in protest. The pages shifted, threatening to spill out, age having seeped into the paper and staining its pages nearly the colour of tea until they brittle to the touch.

On their pages words were written in a hand that seemed to change every several pages. At the margins, strange symbols had been drawn, with addendums and footnotes inscribed underneath them, presumably clarifying the meaning behind their curves and lines. The ink was dark as dried blood and faded in and out, whether due to age or to an unskilled scribe, Jimmy couldn’t tell. In fact, the whole thing had an air of division to it; on one hand, Jimmy wouldn’t be surprised if it was some cast-off Halloween prop Rose had managed to scrounge up; but on the other, its hand-stitched leather and the positively musty smell emanating from its pages said otherwise.

“What’s that?” Daisy asked with heavy misgiving, not liking the look of the clearly occult origins of the book.

“This, dear friends, is a book of spells and conjuration,” Rose pulled in close and the four of them unconsciously mimicked her, “a veritable source of black magic!”  
  
Jimmy’s eyes flicked back towards the symbols and curled his lip. He did not believe in black magic or any frou-frou notion of the dark arts.

“I think,” she sang, voice honey-sweet, “that we should call upon one of the spirits and make it do our bidding.”  
  
Alfred finally clued into the conversation and scoffed, “What for?” Giving voice to a sentiment all four of them shared.  
  
Rose looked taken aback that they hadn’t fallen madly in love with her plan immediately, “Well, I don’t know. For riches? For fame? For Daisy to finally get a boyfriend? It doesn’t matter, it will be fun and just the idea _alone_ would drive mummy mad!”

Jimmy didn’t know if ‘fun’ was the right word, and he didn’t look forward to another night reciting Latin any more than he did the last time Rose convinced them to play with the Ouija board. That night had failed miserably, with Rose’s mother walking in on them attempting to put out a small fire caused by an overturned candle. He had been banned from her house for two weeks, and she too from his flat.  
  
Shutting the book carefully, he turned to her, bodily cutting off Daisy’s bellow of indignation, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

And then suddenly he was pinned by a heated look that usually suggested he’d made a very grave mistake and that he would be going home by himself, “Why, are you scared?”  
  
So Jimmy found himself recreating one of the circular symbols on the floor of the house. Ivy and Alfred had the easier task of lighting column candles and placing them around the small living room they had chosen to use. Not fast enough, as Jimmy had to squint at the picture in the low light and hope for the best.  
  
“Oh shut it, Jimmy,” Alfred said as he lit his last candle, “Daisy, come on. You’re just saying that now cause it’s nighttime and the house’s so dark.”

“No, I—”  
  
Rose clapped, interrupting her, “Okay! Let’s get started. Are you finished, Jimmy?”

He stood and inspected his handiwork, “Sure. Looks about right.” He exchanged his paintbrush for his can of cider and guzzled half of it.

They sat cross-legged around the painted circle, positioning themselves so that they made the points of a pentagram if one were to draw a line between them. Rose took the place facing north, and she shot a grin to Jimmy as she turned to the right page in her book. Then they started. In her best A-level voice, Rose started to recite whatever was written in her book, emphasising certain words with a raised fist. Jimmy couldn’t tell if it was part of the instructions or Rose’s own spin on it; he supposed one never knew with her.  
  
“You know what this means?” Jimmy asked Alfred in a stage whisper, pointing at her with his drink. Alfred lifted a haphazard shoulder and drank from his own cider. Jimmy took that as a no.

“Shh!” Ivy hissed, whilst Rose continued to chant, “You’re ruining it!”

Jimmy raised his hands in surrender, but when she turned her attention back to Rose, he grumbled into the mouthpiece of his can. It was empty, and this was a waste of his Thursday night.  
  
“Obsecro autem vos, hic et nunc. Venit!!” Rose yelled and signalled to Ivy to light her bundle of herbs on fire, thereby completing the spell. The other girl did so with a grimace and threw it into the circle.

And then nothing happened.

For a moment no one said anything, and Jimmy strained his ears to hear something – anything – in the ensuing silence. Rose shifted her weight and repeated herself, “Obsecro autem vos, hic et nunc. Venit!”

Again, nothing but silence answered her command. Rose looked crestfallen, but Jimmy saw this as an opportunity to leave this cesspool. He whistled the tune of a falling bomb, “Looks like we blew it, love.”  
  
She turned her head and gave him another look, but before she could say anything Alfred interrupted.  
  
“Pub?”  
  
++++  
  
That night Jimmy returned to his flat – alone – and fell asleep almost immediately. He had strange dreams, where he was himself, but not himself; he was another Jimmy Kent but of a different time. He had just arrived at an old castle – no, an abbey – that looked like the ones he used to visit during primary school field trips. He was to be the new footman and serve the family that lived there. The others worked there too – Alfred, Ivy, and Daisy (though Rose was absent) – but they weren’t friends; they didn’t know him at all. Instead, Jimmy felt like an outsider, a new and unwelcomed addition to a well-oiled machine.

+++

The next day Jimmy had slept through his morning classes and only stumbled out into his living room when Alfred returned from Ivy’s in the afternoon. Still getting used to the idea that he was awake, he sat on the couch in a daze whilst Alfred started making himself a sandwich, talking incessantly all the while. Jimmy didn’t hear a word of it until he heard his own name.

“You were there too, Jimmy. I think we did the same job, but I was higher on the food chain, or summat. I don’t know – it was all very weird and complicated.”

“Wha’?”  
  
Alfred flopped onto the couch next to him, sandwich and a beer in hand, “I _said_ that I had a dream with you in it last night.”  
  
Jimmy raised his eyebrows, “Okaaaaay.”  
  
“Well I didn’t say it was one of me better dreams. It’s just we were servers or something like that at this abbey back in the day, and you were trying to get my job. Actually you did get my job. And this other bloke—”

Jimmy sat up straight, “Wait, in this dream, were we both dressed in like, black suits and you had your hair slicked back? And everything was yes m’lord this and yes m’lord that?”

Alfred nodded, his mouth full and dotted with crumbs.

“And there was this old guy with great big eyebrows who bossed us around and was generally a massive prick?”  
  
Alfred nodded again with a look of wonder lighting up his eyes, “Yes! Though I remember the eyebrow man being quite nice, actually.”  
  
“Huh,” Jimmy sunk back against the cushions, “I think I had the same dream.”

++++  
  
“I think I had the same dream!” Ivy nearly squealed, shaking Jimmy’s arm in a tight grip. The contents of her cup splashed over the rim, spilling on her socks and onto his carpet. Oh well, it wasn’t like Jimmy hadn’t spilt there himself; there was a reason why you always chose a black carpet.  
  
“Alfie told me all about it,” She had to shout over the music and the overall din of conversation.

Jimmy and Alfred had thought it would be a good idea to have some people over to celebrate the weekend. Then somewhere along the ‘some people’ turned into ‘rather a lot of people’, and now his flat was full of people that he only vaguely recognised from Alfred’s programme.  Now this grand idea of theirs no longer seemed so great to Jimmy. He and Ivy had found an unoccupied corner of his flat in an attempt to find a place quiet enough to talk. It was away from the speakers and distanced from the group of people that had been screaming the same set of Journey lyrics over and over again – a group that Jimmy feared Alfred was now a part of; but it was still too loud to hold a normal conversation.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimmy smiled, “Strange, innit.”

Ivy nodded exaggeratedly, eyes wide with drink, “So strange. Me – a cook for some la-di-da family? I never.”

Jimmy hummed noncommittally fully aware that Ivy would not be able to hear him.

“I wonder how we could all dream the same thing. Is that a thing – like lucid dreaming?”

Jimmy shrugged, doubting it very much to be lucid dreaming as he wasn’t able to direct his version of the dream any more than his usual ones. He was at the mercy of the dream like a character in a play. He just hadn’t figured out what kind of character he played yet.

It was probably all just a huge coincidence because they all saw the same things earlier in the day, and it triggered some sort of bizarre dream en masse.

“Look, have you seen Rose?” Jimmy asked. He could only talk about other people’s dreams for so long, even if they were all eerily similar.

“Ehm, yeah, she’s,” Ivy waved uselessly around the room, “she was around here somewhere.”  
  
++++

He eventually did find her, but they had to wait until four a.m. until the last of those who could leave left so he could clear off his bed of coats and finally go to sleep. The others who were in no condition to leave were left to find a place on the floors, if they weren’t lucky enough to snag the couches or chairs early enough.

The two of them squeezed onto his twin sized mattress, facing each other, their arms and legs fitting together in the small space that they shared. Jimmy felt heavy with ale and the room swayed only a little bit after he latched onto her. They spoke very briefly with their eyes closed – their mumbled whispers made loud in the dark, so close that they could feel the air that the other breathed hot against their skin – before they fell asleep.

He was back at the abbey as footman James Kent, and he had been asked to wind the clocks upstairs. He felt the stirrings of anxiety brew in his belly at his task, as he had no idea how clocks worked, let alone how to wind them. Another servant – his superior – was there with him, teaching him how to do it. The other man, Thomas was his name, was standing so close that Jimmy could feel the other’s chest against his back, and he could smell his aftershave. Thomas had his hand over Jimmy’s and was guiding it over the clock’s parts, whispering instructions in his ear.

Somewhere a door opened, and then it was morning and Jimmy was awake, curled around Rose and sporting morning wood.

+++++

Jimmy and Alfred were sitting in the mind-field that their flat had become. By then, all of their guests had left, including Rose, who had high-tailed it back to her parents’ place as soon as she woke up to avoid cleaning. Only Ivy was still there, passed out in Alfred’s bed and dead to the world. Though it was nearing tea, they hadn’t cleaned a single thing, instead choosing to sit across from each other at a table that was covered in empties and generally regretting their decisions in life.

“Had the dream again,” Alfred’s voice was hoarse.  
  
“Hmm,” Jimmy’s was too, and for once he was glad for it. He still didn’t know how he should feel about his last dream. Dream-him had been so uncomfortable, caught between wanting to succeed and pleasing his bummer of a boss.

Alfred burped, and placed a hand at his chest, wincing against heartburn, “But it was different. That slippery bloke got me in to trouble this time.”  
  
“What slippery bloke?”  
  
“I don’t know. I think his name was Thomas. He was my boss, kinda. He tricked me into using the wrong powder on a suit jacket I had to clean, and I ended up ruining it somehow,” He rolled his eyes, “What a cunt.”

Jimmy laughed hollowly. So Thomas paid Alfred a visit last night as well. Jimmy wondered idly how Thomas fit into the abbey; dream-him paid attention but the details of the dream world were quickly lost upon waking. He wondered if he crowded Alfred’s personal space too – the thought alone making Jimmy’s mouth twitch with deranged amusement. What an odd pair they would have made. Thomas, with his flawless ivory skin and ink black hair, was way of out of poor Alfie’s league. Jimmy swallowed thickly. Where had that come from?

“Did you have it again?” Alfred asked.

Jimmy shook his head, “No. Didn’t dream at all.”

Then it dawned on him, “Fuck, we forgot to invite Daisy.”

++++

That had been Saturday morning. By the following Sunday, he had dreamt of Thomas eight more times. Each time, the other grew bolder, sharing knowing glances and touching him in front of the others. Sometimes it was innocuous, the brief touch of fingers when passing something across the table at breakfast; others it was different, intimate – grabbing his hand that was resting against his thigh – a stroke at his neck whilst he played piano. Meanwhile, Jimmy found himself accepting his attention and even encouraging it, persuaded by an older lady that that was the way to get noticed – to succeed at the abbey.  Jimmy had yet to figure out why his dream-self was doing it to further himself in his job if the attention bothered him so, only a small part of him admitting that it probably wasn’t so bothersome; Jimmy had yet to figure why that left a bitter taste in his mouth whilst awake.

Since last Saturday, Jimmy had been regaled by Alfred’s version of the dreams that were similar enough to Jimmy’s own. It was like they operated within the same world, shaped by the same events, but they only saw or experienced it as it affected them individually – like life itself. Jimmy kept his mouth shut each time, pretending to have stopped dreaming a week ago and instead listened in silence to Alfred’s thoughts on the abbey – on Thomas – and tried not to be sick, for whilst Alfred’s dreams were a benign if not sad look at a love-struck servant, Jimmy’s revealed a world that was narrow and dark – where he was profiting off the subtle glances and stolen caresses that were Thomas’ only chance at speaking the truth – a secret language whose grammar was built around deliberate tells that had to be read very carefully to avoid disaster.

He wasn’t sure if he liked dream-him.

Startled from his latest dream, he stared at the crack in his ceiling, steadfastly ignoring any meaning behind the dreams and instead waiting for Rose to wake up. Eventually, she turned and rolled into his side, burying her nose into his neck. She shifted and smiled against his cheek, murmuring a good morning whilst trailing a finger along his neck, just like Thomas had earlier. Jimmy stiffened at the memory.

She pushed herself to her elbow, “Okay, what is going on with you Jimmy?”  
  
“How’d you mean?” He looked over at her sporting his best “I have no idea what you’re talking about but whatever it is, I’m innocent” face.  
  
“I’m not stupid. You’ve been all out of sorts this past week, and I do hate it when you keep secrets from me.”

He remained quiet for a time, feeling like a chastised puppy under her glare. The dreams felt so intimate, like they were a piece of his own life; it felt strange to be asked to share them.

He traced the crack above him with his eyes, not willing to make eyes contact, “I’ve been having these dreams – Alfred and Ivy too.”  
  
Rose nodded sagely, “Yes, we all dream, James.”

“No,” Jimmy shook his head, pushing himself up to lean against the bedpost, “We’ve had the same ones.”  
  
Jimmy chose to leave out the fact that his tended to star a certain handsome, older man – that his dreams were a tad more homoerotic than any of the ones Alfred or Ivy had shared – and that he acted like a proper cock in most of them.

“What? Nobody told me this.”  
  
“Really?” Jimmy was honestly surprised. He had assumed that at least Ivy would have said something.

“No, you arsehole. Jesus, I’m only your girlfriend,” Rose punched him in the arm, and then after a beat asked, “What do you dream about?”

Jimmy shrugged, “I don’t know. We’re all servants in this old house and we mostly just dream of working. And I think we all sort of hate each other. Well, not Ivy; she has a crush on dream-me,” Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows, “And poor bloody Alfie has no chance.” So maybe it was just him who hated everyone.

Rose smirked, not denying it. “How long’s this been going on?”  
  
“I don’t know. Like, Thursday?”

Jimmy startled when Rose sat up in bed, eyes wide with excitement, “This all started on Thursday? Thursday,” she drew out, as if speaking to a child, “when we did that spell! Oh my _god_ , that spell wasn’t a disaster! It linked you guys in the dream world.”  
  
By then, Rose was wiggling with excitement, “I _knew_ my Latin was spot on. Wait, why am I not having loads of fun dreams with you?”

“Oh, believe me, they’re not fun,” Jimmy leaned in to kiss the pout off her lips, “We’re basically working in our sleep but without getting paid.”  
  
++++++

Jimmy didn’t have a chance to dream again for two days because he was at the heart of an accidental bender with his classmates. Having survived a series of important tests, they had gone for a drink at the local, which had naturally progressed into another and another; then they went to another pub and another, then another after that. The last thing Jimmy could fully remember was that it had seemed like a good idea at the time, fresh out of class and high from not completely failing. The rest was just snapshot fragments of the night, out of context and blurry, save for the brief moment of almost-sobriety the following morning when they all decided to start drinking again.

For those two days, he didn’t dream at all, and Jimmy was grateful for the quiet in his head.

The third morning was a particularly rough one for Jimmy, and he vowed never to touch the drink again. After stumbling home, he had spent the whole day abed, worthless and miserable, cursing Alfred who chose to use every single pot and pan they owned. Day evolved into night without Jimmy properly realising it was dusk, at which time he fell asleep.

Jimmy opened his eyes and he was back in the dream as if he hadn’t been missing for the last two nights. It was different though, as he had never experienced a dream so real. It was like he was really there in the abbey, and it was his real life – that Jimmy with a hangover was only a hazy dream, far, far away.  He could smell the damp mould that was hanging in the air; he could feel the rough cotton of his pyjamas against his skin; he could taste the purity of the water he drank. This dream found him preparing for bed, which was very strange because it actually led to him falling asleep within his own dream. For a moment it was dark there, like the sleep of his black-out, and Jimmy knew nothing. Then he felt his mattress dip and the gentle brush of soft lips against his. Disoriented, he thought it was Rose, and he started to respond, deepening the kiss.

After that, several things happened at once. Alfred opened his door, mumbling, and Jimmy opened his eyes, revealing not Rose but Thomas to be leaning over him and kissing him. And then Jimmy was yelling terrible things at Thomas, a rage so strong hammering against his chest that he almost pressed his fists against that tender mouth that kissed him so adoringly. Thomas looked as though his whole world was crumbling, yet Jimmy still threw him from his room. He had never been so angry before.

It was with rage and disgust and something else brewing in his stomach that Jimmy awoke, only to find Thomas above him, kissing him.

Jimmy blinked a few times, allowing his brain to catch up with him. It was Thomas from the dream, but Jimmy was Jimmy Kent from reality, shitty uni student and mediocre boyfriend of Rose MacClare. Thomas – who smelled the same as he did in the dream – whose lips were maybe even softer now than they were before – Thomas, a dream-man now real and in his bedroom of the flat he shared with Alfred.

Jimmy squealed and rolled off the bed, hitting the ground hard. His heart was threatening to burst from his chest. In the darkness, he couldn’t see anything – Thomas could be anywhere.

 He heard Thomas’ voice echoing what had been said in the dream

_But what about everything there is between us?_

Then his own hateful voice responding

_There’s nothing between us but my fists if you don’t get out_

Without another thought, Jimmy pushed to his feet and ran for his door, fumbling with the handle for a few precious moments in his haste – a few moments that Jimmy could feel the whole of the room turn to static and the promise of Thomas’ touch at his neck was only a second away.

He burst finally through and fell into the living room, blinking against the light, finding Alfred, Ivy, and Rose frozen on the couch, staring in shock at his abrupt entrance. He climbed to his feet and started to pace, making sure to avoid anywhere near his open door.

“Okay, we fucked up. We fucked up. We really, _really_ fucked up. We need to undo that spell. Now. Like right now.” Jimmy knew he was rambling, but he didn’t care. His head pounded from the hangover and his stomach threatened to mutiny. He felt ill, ashamed, that dream him had been so angry – a fury that had been so infectious that Jimmy felt it as his own – the beat of someone’s emotions pulsing inside him.

“What? Why?” Ivy asked.

Jimmy looked back at his darkened room, “Just… because, okay?” He just needed everyone to be a mate here and accept what he had to say without questions.

“I thought everything was fine?” Rose asked, which was fair, he had said they didn’t need to undo anything, but that was before dream people – _dream men_ – came alive and kissed him in his sleep, back when he couldn’t be arsed to go back to that disgusting house.

Jimmy pursed his lips into a straight line and looked between his friends. He was shaking. How do you share the fact that you kissed a dream person? A very male dream person.

“Is this about last night’s dream?” Alfred asked.

Next to him Ivy whined, “Hey, I thought you weren’t having these dreams anymore.”  
  
Jimmy looked to Ivy and then back to Alfred, eyes round, pleading for his flatmate to keep his gob shut for once. If he had dreamt Alfred, then of course Alfred had dreamt being there, witnessing everything. He nodded ever so slightly, as if he affirmed it in any more positive a manner, it would summon the spectre from his room.

Alfred laughed and Jimmy knew then that his friend was a horrible person who was insensitive to his very real and _very sensitive_ problems, “Oh my god, Jimmy. I didn’t think even you could be that insecure; it was just a dream.”

Rose suddenly looked very concerned, “What?”

Alfred turned to her and settled into unfurling the story with a smirk, “Okay, so there’s this man who’s our boss in this dream world—”

“Don’t!” Jimmy wanted to disappear – for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.  
  
“Yeah and this bloke – Mr. Barrow – is in love with dream-Jimmy. And dream-Jimmy over here totally leads him on; like everyone figures they’re gay for each other,” Jimmy wanted to slap the shit-eating grin that was currently adorning Alfred’s face. Alfred, fully aware of this fact, was loving it, “which is against the law because homosexuality was a sin back then. Huge no-no.”

Rose turned to Jimmy with a sly smile, clearly enjoying Alfred’s performance.

“Anyways, dream-me is out on a disaster date with Ivy,”

Ivy hugged at Alfred’s arm and kisses his cheek, “Sorry, love”

Alfred smiled soppily and accepted her apology – as if it mattered, “So I’m coming back late to my room, and I guess I wanted to tell Jimmy how great – aka how awful – the date was, when—”

Here Alfred rocked in his seat and prepared himself for the punch line of the story, and Jimmy couldn’t take it any longer. He launched himself at his flatmate and attempted to wrestle the words back into his gangly body. They struggled against each other on the couch, pushing a displeased Ivy against the arm rest in their tussle. Eventually, Jimmy was able to wrap his body around Alfred’s and get his arms around Alfred’s head in an attempt to perform a deadly sleeper-hold.

Alfred grunted and slapped at Jimmy’s face. Unfortunately, his lips were still free to flap, “They’re both snogging!”

Jimmy released Alfred, punching him in the arm, which elicited another pained laugh.

“Oi! I’m just sorry I interrupted. Maybe if I didn’t you would’ve gotten some.”

“You bastard,” Jimmy hissed, seeing red.

Rose scoffed, “Oh Jimmy, it’s just a dream.”

“No it isn’t!” Jimmy shouted and the room promptly hushed into a painful silence. He winced at the triplet looks of shock on their faces but more so at the beginnings of rage’s blush at Rose’s cheeks.

“Mate, you know I was just kidding,” Alfred started awkwardly, “You’re my friend; I support you no matter—”

“That’s not—” Jimmy sighed, feeling suddenly boneless against the couch, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how do you mean it?” Roses’ voice was as hard as steel.

“Okay, yes! I dreamt that _Thomas_ kissed _me_ , “Jimmy stressed the distinction, “In my, er—dream-me’s sleep, might I add!” He glared here at Alfred.

“But, ehm,” Jimmy hesitated, “When I woke up – just now – Thomas was there – i-in my room!”

“No fucking way!” Alfred looked torn between disbelief and amazement. Jimmy could only nod.

Alfred jumped to his feet and all but ran to Jimmy’s room, flipping on the light and revealing it to be empty. He swung back to look at Jimmy, “What did he do?”

Jimmy sat dejectedly in the centre of the cushion, very aware that he was in his sweaty pyjamas. He hugged his arms and grimaced.

Alfred’s eyes widen in comprehension, “He didn’t!”  
  
Jimmy could only nod miserably.

+++++

That same night, Jimmy found himself on his knees, freshening up the paint of the symbol he had made over a week ago and cursing his luck. At every creak that sounded he jumped, worried that Thomas – now freed from the dream world – had followed them there. Alfred and Ivy were once again lighting candles and placing them around the room. Daisy was also reprising her role as the annoying member of the group.

“I still can’t believe no one told me we were having the same dreams. I guess you all spoke of it at that _party_.” She jutted her jaw out bitterly.

Jimmy rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. Rose rubbed at his back, her hand a welcome presence, tethering him to the present, and she looked down at the symbol.

“Jimmy, is this the same as it was last time?” She asked.

He nodded. He hadn’t even looked at her book, having only traced the lines that were already there.

“No wonder it didn’t work properly, you ninny. You’re missing a line,” she grabbed the paintbrush from his hand and stooped to make additional marks, “here and here.”

Jimmy looked down to find the symbol largely unchanged from the original. A deep seeded frustration grew in his chest. Of bloody course.

She smiled apologetically and pressed her lips against his. Then she turned and addressed the room, “Okay, places everyone!”

They sat back at their original places and began the ceremony anew. This time Jimmy kept quiet during Rose’s incantation, his body on full alert and tensing at any sound that wasn’t her voice. His stomach burned and his tongue felt too large in his mouth; he felt ill and dizzy.

Finally the ceremony came to an end and Rose yelled, “Obsecro autem vos, hic et nunc. Venit!”

Ivy lit her parcel of herbs on fire and threw it into the centre of the symbol. As soon as it hit the floor, it sparked in a polychrome of light and the ground shuddered. The spark grew until it became blinding, and everyone had to shield their eyes from the glow. Then just as suddenly, it stopped.

When Jimmy lowered his arm, he gasped. In the glow’s place now stood Thomas.

He didn’t look like the last time Jimmy saw him. Thomas was no longer wearing his rumpled undershirt and trousers that reeked of insecurity and loneliness. Instead he was in a uniform that was entirely different from the one he wore in the dream. He was all black lines and angles, and the crease in his trouser legs were so sharp they looked like they could cut on touch. It fit him perfectly, and he knew it, standing tall and proud before them. Gone was the broken twist to his mouth and gone was the tearful droop to his eyes, replaced by a calm veneer that barely disguised a look of disgusted superiority.

“Finally figured it out, did you?”

The ensuing silence was a painful, awkward representation of their crippling confusion. Thomas looked bored and pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his suit jacket. All eyes watched him as he nimbly lit the fag and inhaled a lungful of smoke, pursing his lips to blow an artful plume of smoke in Jimmy’s direction. Jimmy wrinkled his nose; it actually smelled of smoke.

“The spell,” he pointed his cigarette at the painted lines he now stood on, voice bored, “and how you bungled it up.”

Rose straightened her back and raised her chin, taking offence to his critical words, “We did not!”

His blue eyes bore into hers, “I beg to differ.”

She conceded, “We _may_ have made an error in our craftwork, but we only meant to have some fun.”

“Well it hasn’t been very fun, has it?”

Alfred cleared his throat, “But why come into our dreams?”

Thomas shook his head, releasing a mirthless laugh, “Me? Come into your dreams? You’ve got it the wrong way around, Alfred. You lot have been coming into my life,” he frowned here, looking thoughtful, “my past, as it were. Making me relive it. Once was enough.”

“Wha?”

“Yes, you all have been who you were in the dreams. We all lived and worked with each until we didn’t, and then we all died. End of story,” He took a long drag, his cigarette never burning low.

Then he swivelled on the spot, effortlessly smooth, to point at Rose, “Then you come and mess with the order of things. I was very happily departed before your gang of misfits thought it appropriate to call upon the dead.”

His face hardened, “You can’t mess with these sorts of things. You can never know what will come out of it. You can’t,” he struggled with his wording for a moment, “you can’t control it any more than I can.”

“We’re sorry!” Daisy cried feebly, which brought a smile to his face for reasons Jimmy couldn’t understand.

“I know _you_ are, Daisy,” Thomas said, looking fond. “It’s the others I’m not too sure about, but how’s this? Just break the circle and wash down this horrible painting, and I’ll never darken your door again. We’ll call it even.”

“But I’ve got questions – about the other side,” Rose said stubbornly.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Jimmy hissed for her to stop. This was going much easier than he had expected – than he had hoped – and he didn’t need her complicating things.

Thomas looked unimpressed and made to reply when Alfred chimed in, sending a very serious look her way. “Undo the spell, Rose. Then the nice _ghost_ man won’t haunt us for the rest of our natural lives.”

Thomas looked unnerved, “For once, I couldn’t say it better myself, Alfred.”

“Please, Rose,” Ivy pleaded, having turned an unnatural shade of white ever since Thomas appeared.

Rose groaned and rolled her eyes, “Alright, fine. I’ll do it.”

Thomas’ face rippled with a look of exasperation at Rose’s attitude, and Daisy, seeing an inevitable conflict interjected, “We’ll undo it and never bother ya again, Thomas. Just please don’t be cross.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows in response, lips pursed, and Jimmy felt transported to the dream world, as if this was just another day at the abbey and Thomas was talking to them over the servant’s hall table. Jimmy felt unstuck and dizzy, thinking this was what going mad felt like. Across from him Rose was starting to look through her book for the appropriate page. The others watched her impatiently, awkward in the shared hush between them, including Thomas.

Suddenly, he laughed, “The funny thing is, there’s probably some poor sod out there dreaming about you lot, wondering why his subconscious thought it a good idea to go kissing Sleeping Beauty here in his sleep.”

Jimmy’s cheeks burned, “Oi—”

Thomas rolled his eyes and flicked his cigarette away where it disappeared into nothing, “Oh, get over yourself, Jimmy. I certainly did.”

Before he could assemble a reply, Rose had started chanting in Latin again, and everyone drew quiet, listening to the rhythm with which she delivered the incantation, her dulcet tones creating a song out of the dead language. Jimmy bit his lips closed if only to stop from defending his dream-self, still feeling sore about everything. He thought back to the kiss, and felt a swatch of pique blaze through him. Here he was feeling sorry for the way he treated Thomas, and Thomas threw it back in his face. Without meaning to, he phased out Rose’s words, missing the last of her spell, only realising it was over when a sudden calm smoothed out Thomas’ features; he was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving behind only negative space.

Once again silence reigned after Rose shut her book. She looked around at the faces of her friends and shrugged, “That’s it.”

“Well, that felt…” Alfred trailed off.

“Anti-climactic?” Ivy suggested, linking her hand within his.

He rubbed at his neck, “I guess. Weird to think that we lived all that.”

“Reincarnation,” Ivy murmured in shock.

“Do you think it’s over?” Daisy asked.

Jimmy hummed and placed his hand over Rose’s knee, tugging her towards him, “I hope so.”

They stood and agreed to wash the floor in the following morning, when they could bring the proper supplies to rid the paint off the wood. The five of them walked home in a daze, stricken by the significance of what this implied. They went their separate ways with barely a goodbye when their paths split, and Alfred and Jimmy walked the remainder of the way to their flat in silence, the hush only breaking when Alfred laughed as he was nudging off his shoes at the door.

“What?” Jimmy was ready to sleep – alone in his head for once.

“It’s just funny that, no matter what life you live, Jimmy, you always manage to be a knob-head in it.”

“Oi!” Jimmy grabbed for Alfred, who managed to dance away from his grip and race for the safety of his bedroom in three long strides. Slamming the door shut, he was still laughing when Jimmy gave up and slunk to his own room, all but throwing himself onto his duvet.

That night he didn’t dream of a single thing.

+++

+++

+++  
  
Months had passed and none of them had any more dreams about their past lives – shared or otherwise – and Jimmy couldn’t be happier. Rose dismissed his midnight kiss with a dream man entirely, and Jimmy had almost forgotten about it. They all had survived the semester, and Jimmy even passed with reasonably good standing. The holidays had been spent in good cheer, Jimmy spending most of it with the MacClares, and he felt ready to tackle a new set of studies.

He had found a seat at the back of the lecture hall for the first class of his new semester, intent to hear the new syllabus and then have the remainder of his day to do whatever he liked; Tuesdays would be his slow day, with just this one class in the morning.

Just as the clock struck 11, and the students began to look expectantly towards the front, a clear voice rang out over the din, “Good morning everyone. A bit of bad news: due to an unseen set of circumstances, Professor Findlay won’t be leading this class anymore,”

Jimmy looked up and felt his heart stutter in horror.

“I’m Professor Barrow and I’ll be taking over for the rest of the year.”

None other than Thomas Barrow was standing at the front of the class, wearing a tweed blazer with patches at the elbows over a ridiculous plaid shirt. His hair, untamed by dream-pomade, was shorter and wilder than Jimmy had ever seen it, and his face was covered in a thick patch of stubble. He was grinning openly to those in the front rows as he dropped his suitcase next to the podium at the front. He had yet to spot Jimmy.

Jimmy swallowed thickly and sunk lower in his seat, “Fuck me.”


End file.
